


Candles and a Spatula

by shark_snark



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, I dont know how to tag, M/M, cute and fun i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shark_snark/pseuds/shark_snark
Summary: As Arthur’s personal manservant, there were many things Merlin had to do routinely, some of which he used magic for and others which he did the mortal human way — meticulously with his own two hands. Usually Arthur only mock-complained about how slow and bad Merlin was at his job, but this time was different. He seemed to have a special idea on how to spur his servant into becoming more efficient at a very specific task. With a spatula.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Candles and a Spatula

**Author's Note:**

> so my friend sent me this absolutely hilarious tiktok of a korean couple trying to put out candles with a spoon, and I just had to write something like that.  
> It was funnier in my head (and the tiktok was also much funnier but well, here we are) 
> 
> It’s not super shippy but I think it can be read with romantic undertones! Hope you’ll enjoy reading anyway!

As Arthur’s personal manservant, there were many things Merlin had to do routinely, some of which he used magic for and others which he did the mortal human way — meticulously with his own two hands. This included folding his laundry, polishing his armor when he was watching him,writing speeches next to him, scrubbing the floors of his chambers, and putting out the candles each and every night one by bluffing one. Usually Arthur only mock-complained about how slow Merlin was, how bad he was at all those things that were supposed to be his job, and offered nothing more than another workload should he not magically improve in the next three seconds. But this time was different; he seemed to have a very special idea on how to spur his servant into becoming more efficient at a specific task.

It started very ordinarily: As it was nearing nightfall, Merlin entered Arthur’s chambers to help him into his nightclothes, clean up any residue dirt from the day, take his dirty laundry with him, and put him to bed like the giant child he was. Or like the prattish prince of Camelot, or any other noble, really; there wasn’t much of a difference in Merlin’s eyes. Except that Arthur wasn’t actually that bad of a person, as he usually complained in an almost friendly manner, teasingly and jesting. He usually also didn’t reprimand Merlin all that much for being late or not exactly right on time, and waited for him rather than fetching another servant. This time, too, he was already waiting for Merlin, standing busily with his hands behind his back, leaning forward onto his toes and back again. But instead of with his usual tight-lipped smile that only bordered true annoyance, Merlin was greeted with a mischievously twinkling smirk he had not really seen before. It did not take a second before Arthur greeted him, motioning for him to come closer, right to where the candles still flickered in a golden-orange light. With a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and a lilt in his voice, he said, “Merlin, my good servant, you must have been very busy with your workload today.”

For a moment Merlin tensed up. Arthur _never_ called him his _good_ servant, not mockingly, not even sarcastically. This was a first and as if this choice of words wasn’t confusing enough already, Merlin also did not know what to make of the smile on Arthur’s lips, the mirthful glimmer in his eyes, the lingering hand on his shoulder and the closeness of their bodies. Sure, he had complained about his work to pretty much everyone he knew — Gwen, because she had to suffer through a similar load of tasks assigned by the royal family and understood his frustration best; Gwaine, because he was his friend and always found the right words to cheer him up; Gaius, because he really needed the man to understand just how busy he was with Arthur’s tasks alone; he even had complained directly to Arthur’s face and watched him remain unfazed. So, why the sudden shift? The ominous happy attitude? The praise? The interest in whether his work had kept him busy? In his mind, Merlin went through all the things he could possibly have messed up, tried to think of any mistake he had made recently but found nothing. Nothing that would have warranted Arthur’s anger, at least. He was not planning to punish him, was he? This was just an act to mess with him, wasn’t it? Though he could not tell what exactly this was about, he was certain something was off. Arthur usually did not behave like this, neither when he was acting as Prince Arthur, prattiest prat to ever prat, nor when he was simply being Merlin’s cabbageheaded friend.

The more Merlin thought about what Arthur could have possibly planned, the more restless he grew. Until Arthur moved his hands from behind his back and revealed an object he had kept hidden there the entire time. All of Merlin’s worries dissipated at once, replaced by utter bewilderment and deep confusion.

“What is that?” he asked and briefly wondered whether his prince had lost a few of his marbles or all of them at once.

“Well, Merlin,” explained Arthur as if he was speaking to a child and held up the object a little higher, “this is a wooden spatula.”

Merlin crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave him an offended and frustrated look; he knew what a spatula was, thank you very much. He also knew that a spatula made a great tool for hitting someone across the head, and that was definitely something he’d start doing to Arthur if he did not care to elaborate how exactly a spatula of all things was related to his work. Was he supposed to go cook something? But that wasn’t actually his job. They had kitchen staff for that. Just what did Arthur want with a damned spatula?

When no explanation came from the prince, Merlin grew a little annoyed and shifted on his feet. “And I am supposed to do what with that, my lord?”

As Arthur’s grin widened, so sparked the little glimmer in his eyes, and he commanded, “Watch!”

With one swift snap of his arm, he swung the spatula from left to right, creating a tiny gust that put out all three candles perched on the stand in front of him at once. When his gaze found Merlin’s, excitement and pride was shimmering in it, clearly yelling “did you see that?” like a little child, and Merlin melted at the rare, playful display. Sometimes Arthur allowed himself to be more playful with his knights, but that often was a rougher mock-brawl sort of thing Merlin did not want to partake in. That he found little things like these, putting candles out with a spatula, in the privacy of his own chambers, where neither Uther nor other nobles could reprimand him for such behaviors being unfitting of a prince, really showed just how much he wanted to include Merlin in his fun. And Merlin gladly accepted, now that his worries had been extinguished along with the candles. No wonder Arthur had acted like he had before — almost cryptically out of character with _praising_ him as his _good_ servant — because, even though Merlin liked to believe they were getting along better and better, Arthur never outright stated that he was his friend or even acted as anything other than a prince when others were with them. It must have become a habit for him already, to pretend he wasn’t actually trying to be nice to Merlin — nicer than a prince should be to his servant anyway. But considering just how many times he had spoken in favor of Merlin, talked him out of trouble with the law, lied for him, fought for him, put his own life at risk, Merlin saw this situation for what it truly was.

So, when he took the spatula and turned to face another set of burning candles, he considered briefly, for just the fracture of a second, to put his magic into it and extinguish the candles all at once like Arthur had done, but then decided not to. He wasn’t afraid to use subtle magic in front of him because Arthur was dense enough not to notice it, not _kind_ and _fun_ magic at least. He only recognized the kind of magic he perceived as evil, which in many cases was harmless magic still, but Uther’s teachings had planted a very wrong idea in his head. Merlin didn’t want to entertain the thought any further, and instead rolled up one of his sleeves, positioned himself in front of the candles and enthusiasitaclly swung the spatula, from left to right, just like Arthur instructed him to, close enough and fast enough, and—

“Ack!” yelped Arthur and promptly started rubbing his head where Merlin had, he realized with paralyzing shock, struck him with the spatula. “Merlin!”

The man in question was frozen to the spot, unmoving and breathless like a surrounded deer during a hunt. While he had thought about hitting Arthur several times, for his prattishness and as payback for what he liked to call horseplay, he had never truly intended to go through with it. Because Arthur would definitely hit him back twice as hard or put him in the stocks or threaten to sack him or give him so much more stable-mucking work that it really would not be worth it. And truly, Arthur’s expression started as an angry one, eyes fixed on Merlin in a murderous stare which soon, much to Merlin’s surprise, softened up, exposed laugh lines instead, and bared teeth not in a snare but a hearty, rumbling laugh. Sheepishly, Merlin started laughing, too, and handed over the spatula again. Arthur was still chuckling when he shook his head and said, “You didn’t even manage to put out a single one!”

Though the spatula thudded against Merlin’s head in a soft and gentle manner, he ducked and let out a feigned cry of pain. He was smiling when he looked at the still burning candles and then at Arthur, whose lips were curled upward affectionately and fondly. His voice sounded much the same when he spoke again.

“You clumsy oaf.”

Merlin was left feeling embarassed and relieved, offended and delighted all at the same time, unable to hold Arthur’s gaze. He might not have put out a single candle, he might have smacked him right in the forehead, but having made him laugh like that and look at him with so much adoration in his eyes — that was all that mattered, a little bit of reassurance that Arthur cared about him beyond how much a noble cared for his servant, the same way Merlin cared about him beyond some stupid destiny. And so he shrugged innocently, and beamed, “Being clumsy is part of my charm.”

“It truly is,” agreed Arthur and grazed his fingers against the back of Merlin’s hand, letting them linger there for a second or two longer than necessary as he wriggled the spatula back into his grasp. “This needs to get taken back to the kitchens.”

Merlin nodded. “Of course.”

Just as he was about to leave his chambers with a spring in his step, heart happily pounding away at what would become a cherished memory, Arthur’s voice held him back.

“Merlin,” he said, “these candles still need to be put out.”

The grin on his face was a daring one, his eyebrows pulled up both in amusement and chastening, and the way he kept staring at him definitely meant he expected something. Hesitantly Merlin nodded again and swung the spatula at the candles, though this time he _did_ put a bit of magic into it. And truly, all the candles on the stand went out at once, earning him a little chuckle from Arthur.

“Well done,” he said, and though it had a sarcastic ring to it, it was also very honest.

“Thank you, sire,” replied Merlin in the same mocking, yet playful tone they both had adapted for each other. 

And then he left the prince’s chambers with a wide and happy grin plastered on his face, with a knowledge in his heart that one day they would do this again. But Merlin would extinguish all the candles without lifting a finger. He’d use magic, _openly_. And Arthur would be _elated_ to see it. He’d understand. Because they were friends, and there was a bond between them that not even Uther’s vile view on magic could break.


End file.
